


Achieving Mediocrity

by ETraytin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bob Russell is the President, F/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: "Some people are born mediocre, some people achieve mediocrity, and some people have mediocrity thrust upon them." -Joseph HellerIn Bob Russell's White House, everyone is working to get something done. Anything at all would do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick Tumblr-fic, based on me throwing open my ask box and promising to write a fic on any prompt anybody gave me. This one is from avengerassembled, who asked for "....where Bob Russell is President and things are fine. Not good, not bad, just fine."
> 
> (I'm still taking requests, if anybody is interested, my Tumblr handle is also etraytin.)

“Okay, I need you to meet with Jared and the policy shop people tonight, see if you can light a fire under them before the State of the Union.” Will tapped his foot unconsciously against the leg of Donna's visitor's chair, looking very much like a small boy impatient for recess. “We need new initiatives to roll out, ideally something that we can actually pass, so they've gotta be popular.” 

Donna made a note in her planner, then sat back in her own chair, which she still sometimes thought of as CJ's when she wasn't paying attention. She knew CJ had moved offices, knew that this had been Leo's office for the last year of the Bartlet term, but she hadn't been around for most of that. “I'll give them a call tonight to rev them up,” she told him, “but meeting with them tonight would be futile. You know how they are, Will. Besides, I've got a date.” 

Will raised an eyebrow. “I heard he was back in town. He relaxed his stance on sleeping with the enemy?” He made a face and immediately tried to walk it back. “I'm sorry, Donna. That was uncalled for.” 

“Really was,” she agreed quietly. “I have a briefing to prepare for.” 

“Yeah.” He put his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. “The President wants us all in the Oval at four to talk midterm strategy. You'll be able to duck out to brief if it runs long.” 

“I'll be there,” she promised, turning back to her notes. She missed Leo. 

…..................

“And so I'm going to want all of you coordinating campaign efforts through Angela's office, and she'll keep me appraised on the state of the races. We'll pull a few long nights, I imagine, but I'll try and get you all home before supper whenever I can.” President Russell rearranged the stack of papers on the Resolute desk, putting them in order with a solid tap. “That'll be all. Donna, a moment please?” 

Donna obligingly stayed behind as the other senior staff members filed out, trying not to drum her fingers against her leather folder. She had seven minutes until the evening briefing, and a press corps left alone too long would start inventing their own stories. “Yes, sir?” 

“I'm going to be relying heavily on you for the press strategy on the midterm campaigns,” the President told her, drumming his fingers lightly on the desk. “You know what a squeaker we had last time, and our coattails weren't exactly long. Picking up a few seats would make it a lot easier for us to actually pass a few bills around here.” 

“Yes sir, I've been working with my deputies to outline a strategy, I've given Will a rough draft-” 

He waved a hand. “Yes, I've had a quick look at it, you're on the right track. We need to be supportive, but not overly supportive. We can't let ourselves get dragged in too deeply on any of these races, in case they don't go the way we want. I don't want egg on our faces, Donna.” 

“No sir,” Donna agreed. “I'm sure we can find a balance-”

“Balance is good,” he agreed over top of her. “That's what I'm really looking for here. That's what I think we're all looking for, isn't it? Not too much of one thing or the other.” 

Donna bit back the reply she wanted to make, that the Democrats probably would prefer them to be a little bit more of one thing than nothing at all. It wasn't as though she'd have gotten all the way through her sentence anyway. “Yes sir, we can do that. Will that be all?” 

“I know you need to brief, I won't keep you long,” he assured her in that laconic way that had begun to grate shortly after Inauguration. “Word has it that Josh Lyman is back from exile. Did you hear anything about that?” 

“He's back in DC, yes.” Donna resisted the urge to shoot a glare towards the Chief of Staff's office. “I believe he finished out his teaching contract at Harvard last month.” 

“Has he picked himself up a candidate or two?” President Russell asked. “We may have beaten him and his guy last time, but he's still got a top-drawer political mind. I'm sure folks are asking.” 

“I'm not sure, sir,” Donna replied, carefully polite. “We haven't had a chance to talk very much.” 

“But I imagine you probably will soon,” he surmised with that odd half-smile. “We could use him around here, Donna. You know our legislative agenda is stalled. I could make him... well, to be honest, nothing around here is particularly lucrative, but I could make him a prestigious offer. It's been more than a year, and we're all Democrats. It's time to mend fences and get some laws passed.”

There is no way in a thousand hells, Donna thought, but managed to keep it off her face. “I'm really not sure what his plans are,” she repeated, “but I can take his temperature, see if he might be interested.” 

“You do that,” he acquiesced with a nod. “And you can remind him that if he comes on board as senior staff, there's no rules about fraternization amongst yourselves. In case that's important.” 

Donna felt her cheeks flushing, but there was absolutely nothing she could say to that without losing her job. “Yes sir. The press briefing?” 

“Go on,” he told her, waving her to the door. “Work your magic on them. Let me know if you find out anything tonight.” 

“Thank you, Mister President.” Donna retreated gratefully to the outer office, wondering whether it would be less painful to cancel the date, or to spend two hours listening to Josh rant about how he'd never join Bingo Bob's band of blunderers. Six of one, really. At least she always had her press room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea I was going to put any more chapters on this one, but it turns out there are some big Bob Russell fans in the audience who wanted more of this little AU story. This one is for Arpad Hrunta and AvengerAssembled, who both wanted another chapter of Achieving Mediocrity. Unfortunately I couldn't work President Bob himself into this chapter without it being pretty weird, but he does get talked about a lot. Hope you enjoy!

Calling it a date might have been a mischaracterization, Donna acknowledged to herself as she stepped out of the cab and into the bitter February wind, but at least it had captured her need to change her outfit twice and spend an hour wondering what the hell she was doing before leaving the house. She knew she looked good tonight; the promotion to press secretary had come not only with a title and salary bump, but with the ability to count clothes and stylists as business expenses. She had to look good every day, so she did. And maybe she was no CJ Cregg, but there was no sense holding herself to impossible standards. The press corps had cut her a lot of slack just for not being Toby Ziegler or Cliff Calley, but she liked to think she'd found her own feet in there. Her hair was shorter now than it had been when she was an assistant, and tonight she had it pinned up in an elegant little twist, the better to show off her neck and shoulders in the sleek designer sweater and skirt she wore. Not a power suit, but powerful. She needed to feel powerful tonight. 

She was exactly five minutes late walking into the restaurant, punctually tardy in a way she doubted he'd appreciate. It was a fifty-fifty shot he'd even be there on time, she calculated. Maybe a little less, since he probably didn't even have an assistant right now. Still, he'd taught college classes for a year without getting fired, he had to have managed some kind of timeliness. And there he was; she spotted him immediately from halfway across the room with a skill honed by years of practice. He spotted her at the same time, and she wondered what excuse he gave himself for that. He rose as she approached the table and they stood for a moment, taking each other in for the first time in almost eighteen months. 

“Hi Josh,” she murmured, because one of them had to break the awkward silence. He'd cleaned up well, she noted. Put back some of the weight he lost in the primary, no bags under the eyes, a suit without wrinkles. He looked really good, actually. 

“Donna,” he acknowledged with that ironic half-smirk she figured he'd learned straight from Leo. The maitre d' pulled out her chair and Donna took her seat, Josh following suit after a moment. “I guess being a big-name beltway star agrees with you. Or does that outfit still have the tags on it?” 

She sighed without revealing it. That was one way to set the tone of the night. “Thank you,” she replied as though he'd paid her a compliment. “You're looking well yourself. Did you enjoy teaching?” 

“It sucked,” he told her plainly, paging through the menu like he was seeking the hidden hamburger section. “I don't know how students can get into an Ivy League school and still be so incredibly stupid about politics. They don't pick up anything.” 

“Well, there's a lot to learn,” she pointed out gently. “It takes a long time to really learn the ins and outs, all the intricate-” 

“It didn't for you,” Josh interrupted, and Donna wondered why she bothered coming up with ends for her sentences at all. “When you walked into my office you didn't know a political maneuver from a hole in the ground, and three years later you were literally running my office while I was gone.” 

“That was different,” Donna countered, though inwardly she was trying not to be too warmed by the implicit compliment. She'd learned not to trust them. “That was politics in the trenches. It's like learning a language by going to a country where nobody speaks English. You have to adapt.” 

“Then I guess most of my students are just on the losing end of the political Darwin scale.” He snorted as the waiter approached with a bottle of wine. “You should like this one,” he told her, “the sommelier assured me it was 'not terrible at all' and only scoffed at me a little for ordering it.” 

That made her smile, almost in spite of herself. Josh really wasn't much of a judge of wines. She accepted the sip from the waiter and nodded. “It's very nice.” They both waited until the waiter finished the little wine-pouring ceremony and took their orders before she spoke again. “You know, if you're tired of teaching...” 

“Don't,” he told her, raising a hand to stop her from finishing the thought. 

“Josh.” Her voice was half-frustration, half-resignation. 

“I mean it, Donna. Don't ask me to get on board the ship of fools. It'll just ruin our night out.” 

Donna winced inside at the description, but again didn't let it show. She didn't wear her emotions on the outside anymore. “We're not fools, Josh,” she insisted. “And President Russell is a good man, with a good legislative agenda that could use some help.” 

“It could use some help because he was so busy shaping it from opinion polls and focus groups that he forgot to put wheels on it!” Josh exclaimed. “It's like trying to push a boulder down the interstate. Bingo Bob's Boulders, that's what they were called during the election, right?” 

Donna gave up on the idea of asking Josh to show a little respect; that part was all diversion. “There's nothing wrong with focus groups and polling,” she reminded him. “It's not like it's anything new. Joey and Kenny are still doing work for the White House. The Congress is intransigent, and we need somebody who can take the fight to them. It's a good agenda, a Democratic agenda,” she reminded him again.

“As Democratic as it needs to be, and nothing that it could be,” Josh snorted. “Did he send you here tonight with an offer?” he demanded. 

“What?” Donna twisted her fingers in her napkin under the table. 

“President Russell.” Even the honorific sounded like a sneer in that tone of voice. “Did he send you here to get me on the team? Is that why you're here tonight instead of out with some high ranking gomer from Congress or the Pentagon?” 

Donna coated her words with ice, and was grateful she'd already anticipated the evening going this way. It was impossible to be disappointed. “I came here tonight because I wanted to see you,” she told him. “It's been eighteen months, and we didn't exactly end on a good note. But we were friends for a long time, and I missed that.” 

“Is that what we were?” Josh asked, his eyes suddenly intense as he leaned across the table. 

“Most of the time,” she offered, taking a sip of her wine and trying not to reveal that she was suddenly unsure of what he wanted. “I mean, there were some bad times, but I think that's typical for any friendship, especially in such a demanding environment-” 

He cut her off again, but this time she suspected it was because she was babbling. “I don't think it was just friendship, Donna. I think there was more and we just didn't want to admit it.” 

Her fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass. “It was the White House,” she reminded him, “and I was your assistant. Anything more than friendship would've been incredibly inappropriate.” 

“That doesn't mean it didn't exist,” he countered. “I always thought that after we were out of the White House, maybe then we'd finally have a chance to, you know, finally take a look at that.” He was slipping out of his political mask now, and that actually made it harder for her to look at him. “But then you up and left to join the opposing team, which pretty much put paid to that idea.” 

“Technically you joined the opposing team,” Donna pointed out, delicately wiping condensation from the tips of her fingers with her napkin. “I joined the Russell campaign before you even convinced Santos to run. If you look at it that way, you built an opposing team just so you could be on it.” 

He rolled his eyes. “That's really beside the point. If you hadn't bailed, we'd have run Santos together, and everything might have been different. And I admit I was pissed off about that for awhile.” That was an incredible understatement, to judge by the meltdown he'd had at the convention. “But it's been a year and a half, and I miss you too.” His face softened as he showed off the dimples that she'd once been unable to stop thinking about. “We had some good times,” he reminded her. “We could have better ones.” 

Donna looked into his eyes, deep, warm brown eyes that were easy to get lost in, and asked, “Josh, what do you think of the job I've been doing as press secretary?” 

“I think you're great,” he said immediately. “I think you need to get the hell out of there right now so you can help me put together a new Democratic coalition. We can't primary Bingo Bob, but he's going to get pasted in the reelection bid if he can't move anything through Congress. We focus on downticket races for the next four years, then I'll find us an actual candidate and you'll help me run him this time. We won't make the same mistakes we did last year.” 

Donna folded her napkin in her lap. She'd worked in a tablecloth restaurant for awhile in college, she remembered some of the fancy folds. Flip, flip, flip, and there was a little pyramid. A few twists instead, and it was a tower. She looked up. “And what if I told you I love my work and I don't want to quit?” 

He laughed. “I'd tell you I can't give you a raise, so stop angling for one. You're working for a dud, Donna, you can't love that! Everything you're doing right now is meaningless, just killing time. You can't be ready to just throw your life away on that comedy show!” 

She set her napkin on the table and picked up her purse. “I'm sorry,” she said brusquely. “This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come.” Opening her wallet, she took out money to cover her meal, and her estimate of what half the wine had probably cost, ignoring Josh's sputtering, and tucked it under her water glass. 

“Donna, wait,” Josh rose to his feet along with her, catching her by the arm. “Come on. This isn't what we're like, we argue, right? We always argue, it's part of who we are!” 

“You're not arguing, Josh,” she pointed out evenly, holding her arm perfectly still in his grip and keeping her voice very quiet. They were in public, after all. “You're explaining the way things are going to be. You have no respect for my decisions or the work I do, and the only way you'll have me back is as your assistant, following your lead. President Russell might not be the man President Bartlet was, but he's my president, and I serve at his pleasure, and that means more to me than maybe you're capable of understanding. I've outgrown being your assistant, and until you understand that, I think maybe I've outgrown you, too.” 

She pulled her arm free of his unresisting fingers and turned away, walking out without hurry, without stumble. She almost forgot her coat, but one quick hit of the air coming from the door reminded her to divert to the coat check. By the time she was in the taxi, she was actually ready to sit back and take stock of her feelings, and was surprised to find herself... well, not okay, but less bad than she'd thought. Only time would tell whether she'd made the right decision there, but she'd made the one that felt right, the one that felt necessary. It didn't matter that she didn't always like her coworkers and didn't always feel listened to. She had a great job, an important job, that she had worked her way into entirely on her own merits, and it meant everything to her. If he didn't understand that, he didn't understand her at all. 

Donna picked up her phone and hit the speed dial. “Hey Annabeth, are you busy tonight? I need girl talk and wine. I've got the wine. My place, forty-five minutes? Perfect.” Some things were just meant to stay in the past.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After Such A Winter's Day, a new chapter on Achieving Mediocrity was the most popular suggestion from the reader poll, so here you go! I estimate probably one more chapter in this story, but if you've been reading along you probably know how I am when it comes to estimating the length of any work. :) Two more days of the fic-a-day to go!

Donna had an early meeting with the board of the White House Correspondents' Association the next morning, so by the time she walked into the West Wing, it was nearly nine-fifteen. She ran into Will, who was spectacularly bad at staying in his office and letting business come to him, as they both walked through the Communications bullpen in different directions. “Morning Donna,” he said affably. 

“Morning, Will,” she replied, every bit as affably, even as she wondered how Leo had never for one moment looked rumpled while he was Chief of Staff. Even CJ had needed multiple outfits just to get through her days, and Will looked like he'd slept in his clothes half the time. She wanted to give some valuable instructions to his assistant about managing his image, but that would've felt weird. It had been hard enough for her to prove herself in the press room without reminding everyone of where she'd come from. But Will really did look ridiculous. 

She sighed a little as he turned from his course and followed her to her office. “So I'm guessing last night didn't go so well,” he ventured, stopping in her doorway as she hung up her coat and began checking her inbox. 

“Why do you say that?” Donna asked, letting her voice be cool but not as cold as she might have liked. She and Will were a lot more collegial than she'd ever been with Leo, but he was still her boss. 

“Your deputy's pretty hungover this morning,” he told her with a wry grin. “That usually indicates wine and girl talk.” 

Donna sighed. “I swear to god, we split one bottle.” 

“Annabeth only weighs what, fifty pounds?” Will pointed out. “I'm not sure she has any measurable tolerance for alcohol.” 

“Next time I'll just give her ginger ale,” Donna muttered. When Will just lingered, waiting at her office door like he expected a bus to come along, she ignored him. For a minute, then two. She knew if she stared at him, he'd crack like an egg, but it wouldn't make him leave. He'd just start babbling. She finally did look up at him, and he raised both eyebrows inquisitively. “I was home before 8:30 and didn't even eat the overpriced dinner I paid for. You can do the math.” 

“I'm sorry to hear it,” and his voice was sincere enough that she stopped wanting to smack him upside the head. “You, uh, you want to talk about it? Lisa has a bowl of Hershey Kisses on her desk I could commandeer.” 

Donna snorted at the offer, her lips quirking just a little. “No thanks, I'm fine. I've been brushing off encounters with asshole politicians for the past decade, this one's no different.” 

“If you say so.” He didn't bother to hide his skepticism. Sometimes Will reminded Donna of her older brother, just six inches shorter and seventy pounds lighter, and with darker hair, of course. That wasn't always an endearing quality. “We're in the Oval at 10:30 after the mid-morning briefing, he wants to hear about media targeting in the Upper Midwest. You've got it?” 

“Yep,” she agreed absently. “But you have to leave now or I'm going to go up for my briefing and just stare blankly at them for ten minutes because I don't know the talking points.” 

“Leaving now.” Will put up his hands and walked away, leaving Donna to pretend she wasn't brooding over the same asshole politician who'd occupied so much of her time for the past decade. 

By 10:30, Donna had either dazzled or baffled the press (it was always hard to tell) with the latest news on the economic plan, taken Annabeth a bottle of water and three apology Motrin, and actually gathered the data she'd promised on Upper Midwest media targeting. Will and the President were both putting a lot of faith in their ability to influence the Congressional races this year and thus gain a much-needed majority. She'd had too much experience with Democrats who got a taste of power and refused to toe the line to believe that even if their long-shot strategy worked, that it would end their problems. 

Staff in the Oval Office involved the usual subtle jockeying for positions as they all sat down, since President Russell had opted for a loveseat and several chairs instead of couches. Donna aced out Mitchell Martin, the deputy communications director, for one of the chairs, folded her legs neatly, and tried not to look smug. Mitchell went and leaned against the wall. She delivered her report when called upon, got no questions because it was all boring and fairly obvious, then listened to and made notes on what everybody else had to say. 

Thirty minutes into the meeting, Will's deputy Bryan was bloviating as usual on how it was completely impossible to get Republicans on the Hill to do anything and how Senators Jefferson and McManus were going to block the entire foreign aid bill when Donna momentarily forgot herself. “Why would you even go to McManus on foreign aid?” she demanded. “He votes with Harrison and his block something like 90% of the time, he's not going to break for this.” 

“His district is vulnerable, Donna,” Bryan explained in a voice that was more than a little patronizing. “We can peel him off his coalition-” 

“You're never going to peel him off that coalition,” Donna shot back. “He and Harrison are best friends from their days in Congress, Harrison is godfather to his son. It's Harrison you need to go after, and you can get him if you tack on the farming subsidy he's been agitating for. Harrison will get you McManus and three more besides, you won't even need Jefferson.” 

“That's ridiculous,” Bryan began, but was interrupted again, this time by the President. 

“It's an interesting idea,” President Russell told them both. “And really, we haven't got that much to lose at this point, right? Go to Harrison and see what you can hammer out with the farming subsidy, but don't go over ten million unless he's willing to co-sponsor.” Bryan didn't look particularly happy with the directive, but he murmured agreement anyway. Donna was surprised, but rather gratified. At the end of the meeting, President Russell once again asked her to linger for a minute. 

“That was some incisive thinking on Harrison,” he told her. “I sometimes forget that you spent most of your time wrangling Congress and not the press in the last administration.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Donna replied sincerely. 

“Not to change the subject without actually changing the subject that much,” he began with a half-smile, “but did you have a chance to talk with Josh Lyman about my offer?” 

“I did, sir,” she said carefully, diplomatically, “but I'm afraid he's not interested right now. I think he may be pursuing independent consulting work for the moment.” 

“That's a shame,” the president said with a frown. “We could use the muscle right now, that or a miracle. If we can't pull Harrison on this, I might wind up sending you to the Hill to talk with him.” 

Donna smiled a little. “I serve at the pleasure of the President, sir,” she reminded him, “just please, please do not let Bryan into my press room.” 

“Good point,” he acknowledged. “I guess the job switching will have to wait. Get with Will this afternoon when you've got a few minutes and hammer out a statement about the summit meeting next week.” 

“You don't want me working with Angela on that?” The Communications Director would've been the natural fit for drafting a press release. 

President Russell gave her an avuncular smile, which looked just a little weird. “She's up to her armpits in the State of the Union. Will can help you put it together and get it out.” 

“Yes sir. Thank you.” Donna left the Oval Office, rearranging her notes and wondering, just idly, just for a moment, how she would do up in a meeting on the Hill. She knew she was right about Harrison, but she'd never been the actual negotiator, just the one who sent the fruit baskets afterwards. It almost made her want to try it out, just to see if she could.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! This one's coming out a little later than usual, thanks to a middle-of-the-day birthday party at the bowling alley. Even when you're not throwing the party, that many small children can be pretty exhausting. A couple more notes at the end of this one, hope you enjoy the story!

Donna stayed late at work that night, though late was a very relative term in the Russell White House. Back in her Bartlet Administration days, she'd have had to beg, bribe or fight Josh to be allowed to take off at 7:30, but tonight she was the last senior staffer out the door. She dawdled for a few minutes amongst the last remnants of the press corps still writing their stories, shooting the breeze and carefully maintaining the rapport that CJ had always seemed to cultivate so effortlessly. Donna didn't have a helpful Danny Concannon in the room to reliably pass along insider info, so she had to rely on a much looser network of friendly antagonists. Fruit baskets and cookie plates, she'd discovered, worked pretty well in the press room as well, though they could only go to the corps en masse lest she be accused of bribery. 

Nobody had anything earth-shattering to pass along, so she drove home by way of the grocery store, picking up a stack of healthy frozen dinners, a pint of raspberry chocolate swirl ice cream, a pound of coffee, and a loaf of bread. That was the extent of her kitchen usage these days, despite what she told her mother regularly on the phone. A night in sweats and fuzzy slippers, with a bowl of ice cream and the television firmly on a non-news channel seemed like a little slice of heaven. Of course she should've known that things weren't going to end up like that. 

Press Secretaries didn't pull down salaries that were particularly impressive for the private sector, but President Russell believed in rewarding loyalty where he could. All his senior staffers made the maximum White House salary, which was much, much more than she'd made in her previous jobs. The boost had allowed her to move into a small but adorable two-bedroom place in Adams-Morgan, in a building with a doorman to keep out any especially pesky reporters. She was quite surprised, therefore, to arrive on her floor and find Josh sitting next to her doorway, legs extended to block most of the hallway, pecking industriously at his Blackberry with one index finger. 

He looked up when he heard her coming. “They said you guys were keeping banker's hours in this administration. I thought you'd be here hours ago. Where've you been?” 

Donna sighed. The absolute last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was probably something in the natural disaster or national tragedy category, but Josh Lyman was still way up close to the top of the list. “Working,” she told him shortly, “and shopping. You shouldn't be here.” 

Josh climbed to his feet, trying out his master-politician grin on her. “Your doorman let me up. It's a company town, Donna, everybody knows the movers and shakers.” 

“And you passed him a ten and promised not to be an ax murderer,” Donna surmised flatly. He looked slightly embarrassed. “But that's not what I meant.” The two bags of groceries pulled at her arm, but she didn't set them down, hoping she could send him on his way and go inside. 

“Look, I came to apologize,” he began quickly, as though trying to get all the words said before she tossed him out on his ear. “Believe it or not, I had a plan going into last night, and I screwed the whole thing up, and spent the rest of the night kicking myself about it.” His face was earnest now, and seemed honestly apologetic, and that was much harder to resist than the cocky grin. 

She studied him for a moment, till he was shifting from foot to foot. “What, exactly, did you want to apologize for?” she asked cautiously. 

“Pretty much everything,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But mostly for anything I said that might have given you the impression that I don't admire everything you've accomplished, or that I think you're not capable of handling your own life, and probably my life and everybody else's lives as well if you wanted to. I meant to congratulate you right away on everything you did last year and everything you're doing now, but I sort of got derailed from the beginning.” 

Donna had to admit that was a strong opening, as apologies went, and a lot more than she'd honestly expected. There was sweetness and intuition buried in amongst all the cockiness and swagger, and sometimes she forgot to give him credit for that. But it still wasn't enough. “What derailed you?” If they were going to have another Russell-flavored throwdown, better to have it now. 

To her surprise, he looked even more uncomfortable. “This isn't exactly a conversation I anticipated having in your hallway. Could we talk somewhere a little more private?” He glanced towards her door. 

She pursed her lips and considered. “There's a little wine bar down the street, we can get a booth and talk. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.” 

“But I thought-” 

“I'm not letting you in my house right now,” she told him flatly. It felt sort of good to be the one doing the interrupting for once. “If this turns south again, I'm not going to be anywhere that I can't just walk away.” 

He ran a hand through his already-tousled hair, looking as confused and wrong-footed as if she'd just told him she was voting Republican now. “Yeah, okay,” he finally agreed, surprising her. “That's fair. Um, here.” He reached down to the floor behind him, picking up a slightly wilted bunch of mixed spring flowers. “These are for you. Part of the apology thing, but you probably need to get them in water pretty soon.” 

Donna juggled her bags and took the flowers, allowing herself one good sniff. Flowers were always prettier in the middle of winter. “Thank you,” she told him. “They're beautiful.” 

“Um, fifteen minutes then?” he asked, jerking his head towards the elevator. She nodded in reply. “Okay, see you there.” Donna watched him walk away before letting herself into her apartment, all thoughts of a quiet evening gone. 

Fifteen minutes was not a lot of time to prepare for anything, but Donna was nothing if not efficient. She trimmed the flowers and put them in a vase, put away her groceries and freshened her makeup, all while checking her phone messages and eating a bread-and-butter sandwich that would keep the wine from knocking her on her ass too quickly. She debated a quick strategy call to CJ, but that would probably take too long, especially with CJ likely snarled in LA rush-hour traffic. Shrugging out of her suit jacket left her clad in a strappy maroon top and black skirt, not really too bad for a night out in Adams-Morgan, especially when she tossed on a long silver necklace and slightly showier earrings. Why was she even dressing up for this, she wondered even as she did it. It was all about power, really. If she felt strong, she could be strong. 

The wine bar was less than five minutes away, so even on foot she was there on time, glancing around for Josh. He'd secured a coveted corner booth, she wasn't about to ask how, that would supply all the privacy they needed as long as both of them remembered not to start yelling. Which, well, maybe a fifty-fifty shot. She slid into the single curved booth opposite him, keeping most of the table between them. “I ordered us some wine and appetizers,” he told her. “I'm starving. You can get whatever else you want when she comes back.” 

“That's fine,” she replied politely, unfolding her napkin and setting it on her lap. “I think we were in the middle of something.” 

“You wanted to know why things derailed last night.” Josh rubbed his hands over his face in obvious discomfort. Now would be the time she'd usually expect him to start deflecting, making jokes, turning the conversation to a different and more favorable track. Instead, he plowed forward. “I saw you across the restaurant, and I couldn't believe how different you were,” he admitted. “I mean, I've seen you on television, god knows, but in person it's like a punch in the gut. Sometimes I think of you and I remember how you were when I hired you back on the Bartlet campaign, and how you used to follow me around and absorb everything I had to say. You've changed so much since then, and seeing you... it just about knocked me over.” The wine arrived, and he let the waiter pour it before taking a gulp like it was water. 

Donna left hers untouched, lacing her fingers together tightly in her lap. “You can't get used to the idea that I'm not your assistant anymore,” she summarized coolly. “You don't know how to cope in a relationship where I'm not your subordinate.” 

“No!” he exclaimed in frustration, smacking his hand lightly against the table. “That's- that's the exact opposite of what I'm trying to say!” She watched as he regrouped and tried again. “Right from the moment I hired you, I knew there was... something, between us. A spark.” He looked at her like he was afraid she was going to deny it. She said nothing. “I don't think I've ever been as instantly connected with anybody. But you were my assistant, and you were incredibly young, and incredibly vulnerable, so it was easy- well, not easy,” he amended, “but possible to ignore all of that and treat you like a coworker and a friend. And things changed, and you changed, but I kept holding onto that image of you because I needed it to keep me from doing anything I couldn't take back that might cost me you or cost us our jobs. You did outgrow me,” he admitted quietly. “I just wouldn't let myself see it.” 

“So when you saw me last night?” she prompted softly, not quite ready to hope, not at all sure how she ought to feel. 

“When I saw you last night, that old image was blown away,” he told her, his voice equally quiet. “You've come into your own, Donna, and suddenly you were standing there, my equal at the very least, and it changed everything.” Josh scrubbed at his hair again, ruefully. “And you know how well I cope with sudden change.” 

Donna laughed softly and let her fingers uncurl. “Not so well,” she allowed. “You sometimes need to throw a little tantrum.” 

“It's not exactly my best feature.” He set aside his wineglass and leaned across the table. “Donna, even if you've outgrown me and we're never going to be anything more than friends, it's killing me to think you don't know how proud I am or how much I admire everything you've done.” 

She picked up her glass and took several small sips, trying to clear a sudden thickness from her throat. “I... wow,” she managed with a little smile. “That's a lot to take in all at once.” 

“You want a mushroom?” he offered, pushing the plate of appetizers they'd been ignoring in her direction.” 

That drew another laugh from her because there was the Josh she knew, awkward even in his earnestness, maybe especially then, but still very hard to resist. She took a fried mushroom, mostly to buy herself a couple more seconds to organize her thoughts. It was crunchy and salty, and hot enough to nearly burn her mouth. “You're right about the spark,” she finally told him, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “I felt it too, right away. I just didn't think you did, and you're right that it would've been the worst possible time. I still treasure the years we worked together, even with the way they ended. You taught me more than I could've learned anywhere else, and just being around you made all the long days and nights worth it. Part of the reason I left was because I wanted more from you, and I didn't think I was ever going to be able to have that.” 

His eyes widened at that revelation. “I never knew... we wasted a lot of time.” 

“I don't know,” she admitted with a shrug. “I'm not entirely proud of the way I left; I could've served out my notice even if I couldn't talk to you about it, and I wish we'd been able to say goodbye properly, but I really did need to go. I've learned a lot about myself the past two years, things I couldn't have learned from you or with you.”

She saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, though he was a politician too and automatically concealed it. “And what about now?” 

“I'm not sure,” she told him simply, honestly. “It means a lot to me to hear that you're proud of what I've done, but I'm still not going to quit and work with you. I love my job.” 

“I know.” He ran a hand over his face. “Honest to god, I was spitballing there. The idea of being with you but not working with you, it's hard to even imagine.” 

Donna smiled a little. “Lots of people do it,” she pointed out. “Most people.” 

“Yeah, but since when are we most people?” he asked with a half-smirk. He was quiet for a second, studying his wineglass. “Do you think I should go to work for Russell?” It still wasn't “President Russell,” but he sounded amazingly sincere. 

She arched a brow. “What would you do if I said yes?” 

“Probably invest in a gag of some sort for myself,” he admitted, “and then get myself up to the White House.” 

Donna pursed her lips and watched him watching her. “I don't think you should,” she finally said. “You wouldn't be happy there, and you don't do your best work when you're not doing it for something you believe in. It would be great to work with you again, and I'm sure you'd get the job done, but that's not enough.” He was nodding already when she dropped the bomb on him with a smile. “Besides, President Russell is talking about letting me go up to the Hill and bring order to chaos, he probably wouldn't need me to do that if you were there.” 

Josh grinned. “If he sends you to the Hill, it'll be the smartest thing he's done since taking office. You'll whip them into shape in no time.” 

She grinned back, warmed by the praise and not afraid of the feeling this time. “I had a good teacher.” 

“I'm almost afraid to ask,” he teased. 

She reached out and smacked his arm lightly. “You know it was you.” 

“I am a master politician,” he agreed modestly. She just smiled at him over the edge of her wineglass. “So what does this mean?” he ventured. “If we aren't working together, but we're in the same town, and we have this spark thing?” 

Donna shrugged, running her finger along the rim of her glass. “I guess it means we have a chance to start over,” she offered. “It's been two years, maybe that's long enough to let go of any of the old bad stuff and do it right.” 

Josh nodded thoughtfully. “So I guess that makes this our first date.” 

“This is a pre-date,” she corrected him archly. “Camping out in my hallway to ambush me for drinks dosn't count as asking me out.” 

“Maybe, but it worked,” he pointed out, grinning. 

“Next time I want a phone call at least twenty-four hours in advance, and dinner reservations,” she decreed, unable to stop the smile pulling at the corners of her own mouth. 

“You drive a hard bargain. Can I at least walk you home tonight?” Josh tossed some money down on the table and stood, offering her his arm.

“That sounds nice.” She slid out of the booth and put on her coat, then took his arm. Even through the thick fabric he felt warm against her body. They walked out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that marks the end of this story for now, though it's not impossible I'll pick it up again later. Given that it was originally a 900-word short fic with no plans for sequels, anything could happen. But I have other multi-chapter projects on my mind, which means winding down a few of my current WIPs before I start anything new. :)


End file.
